


Tower of Roses

by orphan_account



Category: Pedro Pascal - Fandom, The Great Wall (2017)
Genre: F/M, Fantasy AU, No TGW Canon, Sex Pollen, Wizards, and stuff, pollen fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26026768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Relationships: Pero Tovar (The Great Wall)/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60





	Tower of Roses

Faintly, you could recall falling asleep in the cushioned window seat of your home; the dark curtains of velvet blocking the candlelight, leaden thunderclouds rolling in through the west. A steadying rain had lulled you into dreams, your tea steeped and going cold.

You woke in motion, head lolling against someone’s chest atop a trotting horse, the sound of hooves filling your ears. A hood cloaked your vision, and smelled of woodsmoke and burning herbs.

“Who are you?” you mouthed, voice cracking, trying to strain your head towards the figure behind you.

“I suppose you might call me a new colleague.”

It was a man’s voice that replied, and he muttered strange words you could not make out, and a veil of sleep began to wash over you once more.

When you woke again, the room you found yourself within was completely dark, and whatever spell you had been under during your journey had begun to wear off; your head throbbed with pain, and hunger tore at your insides.

“Where am I?” you shouted into the void, incapable of disguising the terror blooming in your chest.

Slow footsteps crescendoed towards a thick, wooden door to your left, and you froze when the knob began to turn.

An illuminated candle penetrated the darkness, followed by a robed hand.

“I expected you to wake soon,” the same voice from before, now a distant dream or nightmare, echoed against the obscured walls, and the room began to reveal itself in the light. 

Stone surfaces surrounded you, and you saw nothing more than a weathered armchair beside a caged window. A slivered, crescent moon hung in the inky blue sky like a sickle, bright and eager to strike.

The bed you sat upon was small, and yet you felt yourself shrinking onto it as the figure crossed the threshold into the room.

“Who are you?” you demanded shrilly, cowering onto the bed.

“No need to be frightened, child,” the man replied, his other hand, long and bony, waved in front of him like a wand. “My aim is not to hurt you.”

“What is your aim, then? I am to be princess, you know,” you announced, feigning bravery. “When the prince discovers I am here -”

“Oh, the prince knows of your whereabouts, my lady,” he interrupted. “He is well-aware.”

“Then he shall come for me soon,” you swore, reaching into the caverns of your mind for a semblance of confidence. 

“I know he will; that is why I’ve brought you here.”

“Who are you?” you asked once more, this time your voice more of a hushed plea.

“Ushann, of Buridian,” he told you. “You are in Doomlock.”

Ushann the Old was no stranger to your mind, a creature of myths and tales you’d heard since childhood, and you had always imagined his voice to be more of a boom than a whisper in the night, his powers more severe than a knobby, wax candle in a dark cell.

“You cannot fool the prince,” you seethed back at him, “what could you possibly want -”

“All I want from Prince Gabael is what I am owed, child.” 

He flicked his wrist, and a small tray of bread and water appeared on the floor at your feet.

“I am truly sorry to have dragged you into the affairs of your betrothed,” he avowed sternly, “but the laws of the craft, once bound, are infrangible.”

“I don’t understand; laws -” 

“And while I pity your ignorance on the matter, it is not my duty to explain, I am afraid,” he replied mournfully, and finally he leaned into the light well enough for you to catch a glimpse.

He was nothing more than an old man; greying and likely once tall, but now bent and wizened. 

“He will come,” you told Ushann. “I know he will.”

“That is the aim, my lady,” he said, and he backed away from the door, shutting it gently behind him.

-

Pero was ushered inside the castle walls, steered by a knight wearing a very white, pristine cape. The opulent corridors were nothing compared to the massive room he was led into.

“The prince is right this way,” the knight said, motioning towards the throne room. 

Prince Gabael, the twit, Pero thought to himself. A coward through and through, a man who would send out an army of every last man and boy in the kingdom before wielding a weapon of his own. Not a man fit to rule.

The prince sat slouched in a large, golden chair, snapping his fingers impatiently at the knight leading Pero, signaling them to remain silent while another man - an advisor, Pero was sure of - spoke in an urgent flurry.

“This is the mercenary?” the advisor, a man with a glistening bald head asked as he lifted his chin towards the newcomers. “Tovar?”

“It is, my lord,” the knight resounded. 

“Excellent. One moment,” he said, clearing his throat.

The vast room became a hollow vessel, echoing even the softest and sharpest whispers coming from the men of great importance above him.

Pero listened. It was wild to hear the things men would say when they believed no one of importance was listening. He was a disposable pawn, nothing more than an armed figure willing to do their bidding for the proper price. 

“Surely you did not think Ushann would simply disappear, your highness,” the bald man pressed. “I implore that you settle this matter at once; the girl’s family is beside themselves, and if word gets out that you allowed her to -”

“It’s being settled,” the prince shot back, a swift movement of his head indicating he was eyeing Pero. “Let the mercenary go and retrieve her, and send word to her parents that she is being brought straight to the castle -”

“But, my lord -”

“It’s settled,” the prince hissed. “Take care to give the mercenary proper instructions. And if the girl is harmed in any way, it’s his head.”

Pero smirked to himself as the prince pushed himself from his chair, his heels clicking loudly throughout the room as he left.

-

Ushann the Old brought you to the moors of Doomlock, and behind the wooden door and caged window you had remained.

Often you refused meals but stopped turning the books Ushann brought away, filling your days with dreamless sleep and stories. You imagined Prince Gabael valiantly enduring the perils on the long road to Doomlock, likely over mountains and through cursed forests. How many men would he bring to keep him safe, to help him defeat the old warlock? What affair had he found himself in with the manipulative sorcerer? 

The prince had been betrothed to you since both your births, your families making a sworn agreement with babies in utero, destined to wed when the youngest was of age to unify the kingdom and promise wealth, prosperity, and a long and fruitful reign. 

You had not met, but your wedding day approached, where you would wear a crown of flowers and become the princess, like you’d always dreamed of. You had heard tales of Ushann the Old’s power but also word of the prince’s beauty. There were also whispers of his vanity and greed, but you suspected them to be spat from the mouths of the envious. You shook those opinions from your mind as the days bled into weeks, your confidence that the prince would arrive never faltering. 

Until one day, six weeks after Ushann had stolen you from your parent’s home, a single man appeared on horseback down the road that severed the moors. 

He was out of sight, beneath the many eaves of the castle, before you were able to make out anything besides the color of his hair; it was said that Prince Gabael had hair of gold. The man on horseback was clearly of raven hair, with skin that matched the bronzed beech leaves curling on the trees outside with the approaching autumn. 

Your mind raced and you heard nothing from the room that imprisoned you for what felt like hours, not a yell, or any sort of altercation. Perhaps he wasn’t there for you at all; the warlock hadn’t any visitors beside you, as far as you were aware, and -

Your rapid thoughts were cut short when the wooden door encasing you slammed open, colliding with the stone wall behind it. 

The man from the road said your name, his voice rich with an accent, and it growled from his throat. 

A deep, thick scar set over one eye, and it made his stare all the more intimidating. His hair reached his ears, curling slightly around them and over his forehead in a tussle. He was heavily armored, with a long blade cinched to his hips. 

“You are not Prince Gabael,” you cried, standing on weak knees. 

The man sneered at you, his brows darkening over his black eyes. 

“Thank the gods for that,” he said. 

“Where is the wizard?” you demanded. “What are you doing -“

“Taking you to the prince. Is that all you have?”

The man gestured with his eyes as he looked down at you; the same woolen dress of lavender remained your only covering. 

“It is; surely we cannot be going straight to the castle -“

“Those were my instructions,” he said tersely. “I have another cloak with my horse. It is time to go, maiden.”

“You shall address me as Princess -“

“You are no princess yet, girl,” he said slowly, his nose crinkling with cruel, quiet rage. 

“Is Ushann dead?” you asked in a small voice. 

A satisfied grin etched over the man’s face. “Do I look like I could kill Ushann the Old of Buridian?”

Yes, you thought. He truly looked that capable, despite the fact that he was not particularly tall or broad. He was a man of a reasonable stature; it was his eyes that led you to believe he was capable of far more than one might assume. 

“He’s not dead,” he finally replied. “but debts have been settled.”

“And why did you not kill him?” you asked loudly.

“Because he did nothing wrong.”

Too stunned to ask what he meant, and sure that the man would likely not explain, you nodded, and walked towards the doorway. 

“What shall I call you?” you asked him as you stood face to face. 

“I am Pero Tovar,” he said, his voice like grit.

“Pero,” you rolled his name off your tongue experimentally. “Take me from this place, then.” 

Holding your chin out, Pero stepped aside, allowing you to move past him into the corridor beyond your cell. 

“Of course, my lady,” he replied gruffly. “Otherwise, I will not be paid.” 

Pero shouldered ahead of you, making his way swiftly through the old manor as you walked briskly behind him to keep pace. The rest of the manor did not differ much from your small room in decor; the corridor yawned into a spiraling staircase, a large, glass window hanging over it revealing an overcast twilight.

“Where shall we stay tonight?” you challenged. 

Based on a faint memory of a map in one of your father’s old books, Buridian was days from civilization as you knew it, and the night was rapidly falling against the heather, dropping to the coloring foliage high in the treetops. 

Pero stopped on the step, peering up at you through hooded eyes. 

“We will deal with that when we must,” he replied before turning back, continuing his descent. 

You held your skirts up, carefully watching your feet as you took in the chill of the air billowing in from the hall below.

“I wish to bathe and redress before we leave. Where is the warlock?” 

Pero shook his head, scoffing as he entered the shadows of another unlit hall. There was an air of obvious impatience surrounding the mercenary, like your rescue was an inconvenience. He reached for your hand, and you stopped, meeting his dark eyes with your own.

“I’ve only just walked these halls,” he explained, rolling his eyes. “Allow me to lead. It will be faster that way.”

Reluctantly, you placed your hand in his, surprised by its warmth. 

“Follow me, princess,” he sneered, giving your arm a tug as you swung around a corner at his heels.

“Bathing chambers before we depart, mercenary,” you snapped through grit teeth as you noticed the mouth of the manor drawing nearer, pewter sconces barely lighting the way.

“They’re outside,” Pero huffed impatiently, still dragging you by the arm. “Surely there will be a stream somewhere.”

“I beg your pardon?” you shrieked back. 

You were finally outside, and dusk was settling. The winds on the moor rustled the grasses, sweeping across your cheeks for the first time in weeks. Inhaling deeply, you tasted the autumn air, reveling in your freedom.

“I have been inside that cell since Lughnasadh,” you told Pero, who had long since released your hand, but watched you curiously, his scar facing you. “And it is nearly Mabon. All I ask before I meet the man I am to marry after he presents me with the last bloom from the royal garden, whom I am to love for eternity, is for a proper bath and a fresh gown. Is that too tall of an order?”

You kept your voice poised and calm, your eyes soft as you attempted to invoke empathy from the rushed mercenary, who seemed eager to move. The truth was that you felt fully unprepared to meet the prince, finally, after being locked away for six weeks. 

“We cannot stay here, and there are no inns on the route we will be traveling on,” Pero grit out, clearly grappling with a strive of patience and very apparent irritability as the winds rustled his curls. “The prince had clear instructions -”

“No inns?” you cried, “but the main road -”

“Was deemed unfit to travel for you, clear instructions from the prince,” Pero snarled. “As are the Black Spruces summits; you don’t look to be a mountain goat -”

“How dare you?” you asked incredulously, eyes as wide as the pregnant moon, which began to rise beyond the oak trees. “What is unfit about the main road?”

“Riddled with bandits and thieves. Your betrothed has demands, and if you are so eager to please him, I suggest we arrive as soon as possible, taking the route he insisted we take. Surely you will have time to bathe and dress upon our arrival at the castle; if you expect Prince Gabael to be waiting at the gates, I would not hold your breath.”

Your blood boiled beneath your skin. “And which route is that, Tovar?”

“Through the Torthúlacht forest,” he retorted, “and it surely gets darker there than it does on the moor, so hurry.” 

Pero turned on his heels, rounding a small corner of the gatehouse as the gravel beneath his feet crunched beneath his weight. He approached a black horse, suited with leathers and several saddlebags, and adjusted some of the straps. 

“Oh, the Torthúlacht Wood,” you gasped, a childlike rush coursing through you. “My nursemaid told lovely tales of it when we were children.” You allowed Pero to help you mount the horse, who stood obediently as you awkwardly clambered on, Pero’s warm hand once against steadying the back of your thigh as your heartbeat raced. “The lore says that newlywed couples were sent to the forest to receive blessings from the gods, and when they left after sleeping beneath the Tower of Roses, that bloomed even within the darkness of the trees, they’d leave the next morning with a babe.”

Pero was now positioned at your back, holding the reins in front of you with his arms at your sides. You felt him laugh bitterly.

“Storybook nonsense,” he chided, and with a motion of his wrists, the horse moved, and you fell back against his chest before promptly moving your hips, backing away from him as well as you could in such close arrangements.

“It’s romantic!” you shouted defensively, noticing a bat flap high above your head in the thickening night. 

“It’s witchcraft,” Pero corrected you, steering the horse down the path. “You did not strike me as the sort to meddle with such practices.”

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Never before had anyone, let alone a man, made you feel so absurd. 

“What does it matter,” you muttered. “It’s only lore.”

“Indeed, it is.”

-

The road that parted the moor carried on as darkness continued to fall, the wind howling faintly. The milky moon kept an ever-present plume of clouds nestled around it, hardly blocking any illumination. If it weren’t for the mercenary at your back, you might have felt frightened. 

“How much longer will we go on?” you asked. “It’s very dark.”

“Are you hungry?” 

It had been hours since you ate, but nerves had twisted your insides well enough to ignore lingering hunger. Pero’s question alerted you to a sudden pang in your belly.

“I suppose,” you replied tightly. “I’m more fatigued than hungry.”

“We won’t be sleeping on the moor, my lady,” Pero sighed. “Not much further, and we’ll be under the trees.”

-

“This is barbaric,” you muttered angrily, hugging your knees to your chest as you watched Pero gather twigs. He stacked them atop a pile of dried leaves before reaching into his pocket, drawing out a flint.

He struck the instrument, sparks flying toward his makeshift campfire.

“A future princess ought to learn graciousness,” Pero suggested, “do you have sausages beneath that cloak? Or would you rather give hunting a try? I have a perfectly sharp spear in my bags -”

“Do not speak to me this way,” you interrupted, sulking as your eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, the flame rising from Pero’s creation blinding you. 

“A suggestion? Let’s not speak at all,” he hissed, his eyes glowing with anger from the other side of the fire. 

Pero worked efficiently in silence, his movements stiff and accompanied by occasional grunts of displeasure. You watched him with a mixture of wonder and suspicion as he produced sausages wrapped in wax paper from a bag saddled to his horse, and handed you a canteen from a leather pouch. 

“Is this wine?” you asked shrilly. “I should hardly be drinking alone with -“

“It’s water, princess,” he cut in, snarling. “I suggest you drink, lest you become weary.” The hatred in his tone was palpable, made all the more dramatic by the growing flames flickering in his eyes. 

He cooked the sausages, handing you one wrapped in a piece of cut cloth, and you took it, averting your eyes. Shame boiled over inside of you; you’d had nothing besides bread and occasionally eggs and cheese for the length of your imprisonment, and Pero Tovar was nourishing you.

“Thank you,” you murmured. 

You ate in silence, and you shook your head with a feeble smile when he offered you bread. Tearing into it, he finished quickly before standing up to his horse again and rummaging through his luggage. 

“Here,” he said, holding out a woolen blanket for you. “Sleep now. We have four days of travel ahead of us.”

You reached for the blanket, smiling weakly. “I hope you have another for yourself.”

He dropped to his feet with a groan, positioning himself with a tree against his back as he settled in. “I’ll keep watch. Sleep.”

“Are we in the woods of Torthúlacht?” you asked quietly. 

“No. We follow the stream for three days, at least, before we reach Torthúlacht. On the other side of it is only another day’s journey before we reach the castle.”

You nodded. Pulling his cloak around you, you watched him as the fire began to die away, the blanket keeping the autumn chill from sinking into your bones. He was handsome, you decided, in a way you hadn’t considered so before. Almost as if he could sense your thoughts, his eyes lifted from the blade he sharpened in his lap, his lip curling slightly. 

“Sleep,” he whispered again. “You’ll surely need it.”

Deciding not to argue, you closed your eyes, comforted by the sounds he made. 

You stirred when daylight broke, and Pero was already awake, if he had slept at all; there was no sign of a makeshift bed for himself. 

He offered you bread and cheese, and more water, and you once again ate in silence. You excused yourself, taking the opportunity to freshen alone by a stream. Your lungs seized when you sank into it fully, but as cold as the water was, it was worth suffering through to feel clean for the first time in weeks. 

Pero smirked when you reemerged from the path you took towards the stream. 

“What is it?” you inquired defensively. 

“You’re wet,” he shrugged, standing by his horse expectantly. “And likely cold. You look like a drowned kitten.”

Your eyes sank into rage, and your sneer likely matched the one he usually wore. 

“You’re cruel,” you droned. 

Pero laughed. “I jest, princess. You’re beautiful. But you know that.”

“Why did Prince Gabael choose you, of all the mercenaries in the kingdom?” you shot at him, mounting the horse and swatting his hand away as he offered to help. 

“Because I am the best at my job,” he said, a swagger to his bearing as he swung his legs over the saddle lazily. “Not the kindest.” Contrary to his words, he handed you his cloak. 

“No, you’re not,” you grumbled, snatching the cloak from his grip. 

You ventured for three days, the next the same as the one before. Pero laughed at your ‘silly’ anecdotes as he called them, teased you for your inexperience with rough traveling, and you tried but barely contained a petulant attitude until nightfall, where you thanked the gods Pero could start fires, had food, water, and was there for you at all. 

You stopped at a large stream before setting up camp on the third afternoon, where Pero suggested you take advantage of the water. 

“We won’t find another body like this before we reach the castle,” he told you. He nodded towards one end of the bank. “I’ll be around this bend, behind the rock ledge. I’ll meet you back at the horse.”

You nodded, and when Pero was out of sight, you once again stripped from the lavender gown and dropped into the brumal, running water, taking your time to get comfortable. 

When you were finished, convinced the mercenary would be even more disgruntled than usual since you’d taken so much time, you were puzzled to find the horse standing alone. Curiosity and momentary panic rose inside of you as you crept towards the rock ledge, hoping you wouldn’t find him injured or worse on the other side. 

Instead, when you peered behind it, your eyes widened, heart racing. Pero stood on the bank, dressing, wearing nothing but breeches. His torso was facing you, his head down as he aired out his undershirt. A voice inside of you implored that you look away, that you obey him and wait by the horse, but your lips parted, not wishing to tear your eyes from the sight of him. 

His face did not bear his only scar; his chest and abdomen were littered with healed gashes, and hair that clung to him as he shook excess water from his head. 

Look away, the voice begged you. But you didn’t listen. 

When Pero looked up towards the rock ledge, you anticipated a glare; instead, his jaw tightened, lips parting, before you swiftly turned around, heading back towards his horse. 

You were already on the saddle by the time he arrived, his eyes narrowed, and you thought you detected humor behind them. 

“I thought you might be hurt,” you explained quickly, not looking at him. 

“How kind of you to worry,” he jabbed, and when he mounted behind you, you didn’t bother moving forward to avoid his inevitable touch. 

You rode on in silence until it became too dark. You set up camp, ate, and when Pero handed you the same woolen blanket, you cocked your head. 

“You haven’t been sleeping,” you said, pulling the blanket into your chest. You were certain he likely had slept some, but not enough, and the purple bags under his eyes riddled you with guilt. 

Pero pursed his lips, heaving a sigh. “It is my job to protect you, my lady. It is not yours to concern yourself with the habits of a mercenary.”

You thought of what you saw by the water, and you swallowed as you tried to push the image from your mind. 

“You must rest; what good are you if you haven’t slept?” you chided. 

Pero rolled his eyes. “Enough of this. Sleep.”

You grasped his arm as he began to walk away, and he slowly turned to face you, a strange smile washing over him. 

“I order you to sleep as well, mercenary,” you commanded. You did not release his arm, and he did not shake it away. 

“Lie down,” he whispered, and your heart stopped at his words. 

Immediately, wordlessly, you obeyed him, and you shook the blanket out, taking one end and eying the other. You watched as Pero removed his cloak, stuffing it behind his head for a pillow, and nestled against the ground. He took the other end of the blanket, and you carefully watched him through the dying embers behind him. 

You could smell him; smoke and sweat. Your insides burned with something you could not name. 

“Goodnight, princess,” he murmured gently. 

“Goodnight,” you said. 

-

When you woke the next morning, the sun peered behind the tree canopy for the first time since you left Doomlock. Your stomach knotted with anxiety at the hazy memory or dream of sleeping against Pero’s chest, his breath steady and even, but he was already awake, feeding the horse. 

“We are only a few hours from Torthúlacht,” he called to you. “And soon, you will see your prince.”

“I will be happy to see it,” you said, your voice hoarse with sleep. An unfamiliar ache in your chest intensified, and you could not reason with it. “The forest, I mean.”

The ride was silent, your usual banter or quarrels absent from your journey. You told no fairy tales, Pero made no contrarian comments. 

You emerged from one forest and briefly rode through a meadow, the sun beating overhead, until you reached another. The ecology was different, offering an array of softwood trees, and you knew you were approaching Torthúlacht; you could feel the energy, the magic of the woods. 

“Do you think there’s truly a tower? Like there is in the stories?” 

Pero sighed. “I’ve never ridden through,” he said in a bored tone. “We shall have to see.”

“I wonder if Prince Gabael and I will come here after we’re wed,” you gushed, and you felt Pero tense behind you. 

“Is it lore, or tradition?” Pero questioned. 

“I did not mean like the story, I just thought, perhaps, we could visit,” you snapped back, Pero’s fastidious air obvious. 

“The prince is a man of great importance. He may not have time for adventures, even for his princess.”

You tried to think of a retort, but nothing came, and you frowned as the horse rode on. 

The magic of the forest was unquestionably present. Perhaps a more prudent person could have called it giddiness, excited from being so close to the castle, but you were certain these trees had a gift within them. 

After an hour or so, you squinted at something growing within the trees in your line of vision. 

“The tower!” you breathed, swirling your head back to look at Pero. “Just like the story!”

Pero scoffed, a typical reaction, and you flung your head back around to watch it come into view. 

It was tall, nearly reaching the treetops, and you smiled widely in amazement as you peered up at it. You could hardly make out the stonework; the entire tower was covered in vines, small pink roses peppered throughout. 

“Aren’t they lovely,” you swooned, inhaling deeply. You thought you could smell their perfume even from a distance. 

Pero pulled on the reins, and the horse stopped abruptly. “I suppose we should stop here, then,” he said mockingly. “Perhaps you will complain less if we camp beside your tower.”

It was your turn to scoff; dismounting, you stood in awe, the tower only paces away. 

“I wonder which sort of flower will be the last to bloom,” you mused, tilting your head as you examined the structure. “The one the prince will give me when we are wed, I mean.”

“Is that all you wonder about, princess?” Pero snapped, bending down as he gathered kindling for the night’s fire. “Which sort of flower will he bring you? Do you not wonder about his character, or nobility?” 

“I do not need to!” you shouted. “He is a prince; he is -“

“He is a prince with a reputation for greed,” Pero seethed, and he brought himself up to his full height, tossing his bundle to the ground. “All I hear from you are fairy tales you’ve heard; surely you’ve heard of Gabael’s temper, his unwillingness to ride into battle with the rest of us -“

“Enough!” you cried. Both your chests were heaving with rage. “I know envy when I hear it. You’re jealous,” you hissed, leaning towards him. 

Pero gnashed his teeth together, fuming. “Jealous of what? Being the most hated prince in centuries? Being betrothed to a spoiled girl?”

Your jaw dropped. “How dare you -“

“You say that so often,” Pero shot, “assume I would.”

You shook your head in fury. “Perhaps you are jealous because of me!” you yelled back, your thoughts trailing behind the words spilling from your mouth. “Where is your betrothed? You sleep alone -“

“I would not touch you if I was hired to do so,” he hissed. 

You were quiet for what felt like a long time, embarrassment and anger brewing inside of you. “I should have your head on a spike for that,” you whispered. “And I think you’re lying. You have told me before that I am beautiful.”

Pero smiled, revealing his teeth. “Your beauty is not in question, princess. It is your temperament.”

“Rumors are born from envy,” you stated, squaring your shoulders. “You are half the man Prince Gabael is.”

“Your prince sold you to an old sorcerer for fortune and luck!” Pero growled. “You weren’t taken to lure Gabael, you were collateral.”

“What are you talking about?” you whispered, your heart freezing within your chest. “You’re lying.”

Pero’s smile deepened, and he walked towards you. “He thought he could fool Ushann, who is said to be too old, too feeble to fight,” Pero said, his voice low. “Gabael allowed the warlock to take you, he would have wed you had Gabael not fulfilled his part of the bargain by Samhain -“

“Why would you say such things!” you shrieked, tears spilling from your eyes. “Do you really hate me so?”

“No, I don’t hate you, princess,” Pero whispered, and he now stood so close, you could almost hear his heartbeat. “I pity you. Witnessing unrequited love is almost as painful to watch as it is to suffer through.”

“Leave me,” you squeaked out, chin trembling as silent tears continued to fall. “Go.”

Pero stood in place, unflinching. 

“Fine,” you finally said. “I will.”

Without another word, you hoisted up your skirts and shouldered past him, leaving him and tower behind you. 

-

You felt a strong draw to the tower, but you walked away, finding a large cavity in an old hemlock. Your mind raced with what Pero told you of your capture; you did not want to accept this truth, but it matched the whispers you heard of Prince Gabael. He was said to be a ruthless man, selfish, afraid of battle. You recognized and acknowledged the heartbreak you felt when Gabael did not come for you himself, and began to accept that the fairytale Prince you constructed in your mind would not be the same prince you were destined to marry. And while part of you hated Pero for his cruel honesty, you felt relieved that you knew the truth; likely no one else would have been brave enough to tell it. Part of you wanted this nightmare to end, and the other already missed the autumn breeze on the tip of your nose, Pero’s banter, and the journey you’d embarked on together. Here you were in an enchanted forest you’d dreamed of as a girl, experiencing magic unfold. The fairytale you were headed towards was a farce.

Before it began to get too dark, you rose from your tree and made your way back to camp, too frightened to be alone once night fell. 

Pero sat beside an already-crackling fire, holding his hands together between his knees. 

“It was wrong of me to speak so plainly,” Pero began. “You are a kindhearted woman and have endured unkindness in return. A man of my rank has no place saying such things to you.”

Instead of resentment towards Pero, you felt an attachment, a gratitude you had not expected. He drew out a small rose, the same that climbed the tower, and placed it on the ground between you. 

“Forgive me, princess.”

You picked up the rose and brought it to your face, inhaling deeply. A calm surged through you. Reaching towards him, you placed your hand over his. 

“You are right,” you said, “I am not a princess yet. We are the same. We’re just two people.”

An odd blaze burned in Pero’s dark eyes, and you swore you felt him flinch forward, as if to lunge at you. 

“Are you alright?” you whispered. You watched his brow, beading with sweat despite the chill in the air. “Are you ill?”

Pero leapt to his feet, leaving you staring up at him wildly. “This forest is enchanted with dark magic,” he said, his voice strained. “Impure, feral -”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, voice quavering. “Dark magic?”

Pero was breathing heavily, pacing the forest floor. “I am not myself,” he said, “you must go. You are safer alone. Go, take the horse; she will know the way to the castle -”

You stood and gripped either side of Pero’s shoulders. “I will not leave you if you are unwell,” you said bravely. 

Pero mirrored your actions, grasping your arms and held you tightly. “I mean you harm in this state, princess,” he growled, and you gasped when he dragged you against his chest, his nose almost touching yours. His fingers began to trail towards your ribcage, pressing into your waist. 

Fear, or excitement - which, you could not detect - rose inside of you, and a foreign ache began to pool in your stomach, reaching between your legs. 

“The lore is not myth,” you peeped. “Something is wrong -”

“I will break you if you don’t run from me now,” Pero whispered, a desperation lingering in his words.

Instead of frightened, you felt exhilarated; a wild, wretched sensation prickled your skin, like a demon lived beneath it, and Pero’s scent, his voice, his breath coming in shallow and hot so close to your lips, made a wicked beast howl in your belly.

“Break me, then,” you said. “I do not know what I want, I don’t know what to call it, but you must do something -”

You had been kissed before, once or twice. They were nice, albeit clumsy. This was hungry; Pero’s lips enveloped yours with a snarl, and his hands began to tangle around your body. When his tongue slipped past your lips, sweeping over yours, the ache in between your legs made your knees buckle. Your fingers raked through his hair, and you pulled him closer, into your mouth, standing on the tips of your toes to deepen the kiss. 

Suddenly, your dress felt like it burned your skin; you itched to take it off, and you pulled away from Pero’s mouth, dragging your dress from your shoulders. You were stripped and bare by the time Pero pulled you back against him, and the two of your hands worked to remove his armor, his shirts, his trousers. It could have been midsummer for all you knew; the bitter air did not touch you. 

Your mind did not know what to do, but your body lead you; you sank onto your knees and gripped Pero in one hand, the other resting against his thigh as you sank your fingernails into his skin. You sucked in air harshly as Pero fisted you hair. Your hand moved, your mind hazy and heavy with a lust you had hardly known before, and Pero cursed beneath his breath, growling. Dazed, insides rolling with desire, you parted your lips, broadening your tongue over Pero’s length and engulfing him with your mouth.

Your eyes widened as his hips bucked, sending him down your throat as he groaned. He pulled you away, your lips swollen with blood, and he lowered himself to the blanket beneath you. 

Pero was trembling, seeming like he might burst. “Not like that,” he heaved. “I won’t hurt you.”

“You will not hurt me -”

He held you by the wrists, caging your body with his. “Oh, yes, I will, princess,” he swore. “This curse -“

“We aren’t cursed; this is wonderful -“

He cut you off with a kiss, leaning into you with an assertive force. He palmed your breasts, but instead of the pain your mind prepared for, his touch alleviated a fire that coursed through your veins. His thumb grazing your nipple made you arch your back into his touch, the pressure between your legs almost painful. 

Pero pinned your wrists over your head, his mouth on your lips, your chest, your breasts, like a balm on a burn, yet your core began to hurt. 

“I need more,” you whined, “I don’t know what to do -“

Wordlessly, Pero reached between you and sunk two fingers inside of you. You gasped loudly, crying out. 

“You’re hurt,” he said, his voice concerned but his body still grinding against you, his fingers moving slowly within your slickness. 

“It hurts worse without it,” you breathed, wriggling your hips for more. You cried out again when his thumb brushed against the bud beneath the thatch of hair. 

You were possessed; a being you had never known writhed inside of you, beneath Pero’s fingers and under your skin as your mind emptied of everything besides Pero. He was the answer, the adventure, the source of this pleasure you did not know to be real. This was magic, and if it was dark, then you never wanted to see another sunrise. 

“I must feel you,” Pero hissed, but you reached between you and gripped his wrist. 

You shook your head violently, eyes surely wild. “Do not stop,” you instructed. “I order you, Pero -“

You never had to verbally command him; the pressure from his thumb exploded inside of you and you caved in on yourself, your body crumbling in as you spasmed beneath his hand. 

You went limp in his embrace as he penetrated you, the stretch raw and blissful. Again Pero stiffened, trembling as he tried to reign in control. 

“You have never -“

“No.”

He began to move, the concoction of a faint, burning pain coupled with a sensation so fulfilling and pure, you thought you might die if you lost it. Each time he moved deeper, he pulled away slightly again before repeating, each sequence more pleasurable than the motion before. 

“I’m sorry,” he growled. “I vowed I would keep you from harm -“

“Please,” you begged, reaching for his face as you arched your back into him, your head lolling against the ground. “Keep going. I’ll surely die if you stop; I was wrong, you’re more of a man than any prince, you’re -“

Pero’s lips crashed into yours, and you cried against his lips, pulling him into you as the burn in your body raged, the flames lapping in every place he touched you. Pero rested his forehead against yours, his arms flexed on either side of your head as he held himself upright, working himself into you. 

“You are too good to be his princess,” he murmured, breath ragged. You spread your legs as wide as you could, reaching behind him as you cupped him, pulling him deeper. 

“Make me yours, then,” you breathed against his mouth, dragging your tongue over his lips. “I’m your princess. I never want to leave this place.”

“I’ll never leave you,” he vowed, and you whimpered as he drove into you harshly. 

Time slipped away; all that mattered was Pero’s voice in your ear, his breath on your body, his seed spilling from your legs. You drifted into dreams on top of his chest, his arms around you, the burn slowly ebbing away. 

-

When you woke, Pero was already dressed, sitting with his hands in front of him. 

The feeling of possession, the wildness from the night before, had dissipated, leaving an odd ache in its wake. 

“I did not realize the stories were so true,” you said weakly. 

Pero tightened his jaw. “I hurt you,” he uttered quietly. He shook his head in disgust. “I should have had more control -“

“Stop,” you whispered, and you clutched his cloak to your chest as you reached out, putting your hand over his. “That magic,” you began, and you gazed at him as you searched your mind for the words, “I have always wanted to see these woods. I think I was meant to find them with you.”

Pero drew in a slow breath. “I must return you to the castle,” he went on. 

He rose to his feet, and the longing and excitement you’d felt for weeks to finally meet the prince had vanished. 

“I’m a mess,” you groused as the castle came into view, rolling green hills stretched out all around. Arriving at the castle felt more like a sentence than a reward. 

“You are perfect,” Pero stated. “And I meant what I said. That was no sorcery. Gabael does not deserve you.”

“I am no longer pure,” you noted, letting your head fall back against his chest. “And for all the gods to see.”

“Even the gods make mistakes, princess.”

A painful lump formed in your throat, and you swallowed. “I made no mistake,” you whispered.

Your arrival happened in slow motion, it felt like. You detached from the world as servants rushed to Pero’s horse, helping you down and ushering you away. 

“You poor thing,” one squealed. “You are filthy; we must clean you up before the prince arrives!”

When you turned back to find Pero, his face was obscured by the cheering crowd. 

-

Pero leaned back in the wicker chair, the wood creaking beneath his weight as he sat at the dying fire in his hut. 

A week had passed since he’d brought the girl to the castle, and she plagued him. The magic of the rose had long worn off, but her touch, her voice, everything lingered inside of him. 

Tonight was the night of the royal wedding; the entire village was there, and Pero sat in the dark, wishing for some way to drown out the sounds of celebration. 

Something startled him when, instead of celebrating, Pero heard shouts of anger; no trumpets or merriness. 

His blood ran cold when someone began knocking at his door. 

Rising to his feet, the chair fell back as he dashed to the door. 

You beamed at him, a wild light in your eyes flashing as Pero opened the door. 

“Quickly,” you urged, dressed in white, the flower crown on your head tilted. “Take me from here; let’s go.”

Pero’s heart began to beat again, and he returned her smile. 

“You’re mad,” he whispered. 

“I love you,” you said. “And you love me.”

He nodded, laughing quietly. “Let’s go.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Tower of Roses by rzrcrst](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26031448) by [HiJustBrowsingThanks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiJustBrowsingThanks/pseuds/HiJustBrowsingThanks)




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